And there were dead hollows. Four of them. At least, as far as Clare could see. Two had been mangled so badly, it was hard to tell where one began and another ended. The third one lay face-down on the floor, a kitchen knife embedded through its skull. Its head was tilted to the side, facing the door. Clare turned her torch towards it, and its eyes twitched in the sudden light. Its jaw gaped a fraction of an inch wider.
Clare pulled off her mask, letting it drop to the floor along with the crowbar, then pressed a damp hand to her face. She had been ready to see her sister’s body. But it wasn’t there. Instead, she found only confusion and chaos. And she couldn’t make sense of any of it.
Dorran moved silently as he took the torch from Clare. She lowered her hands and forced herself to look again as Dorran examined the scene.
“What…” He shook his head.
She opened the doors. They came in. She fought.
A swell of pride for her sister was quickly followed by grief. Beth had fought, but she couldn’t have escaped. The suburb was teeming with hollows, and the sounds from the scuffle would have drawn in a wave of them. Her eyes dropped to her feet. The floor was saturated with blood. More blood than she thought the remaining bodies could account for.
They ate her. Clare felt herself choking and grasped at the unravelling threads of her mind as she tried to pull herself back together. Beth hadn’t died cowering. She had taken down four of the monsters before succumbing. That was admirable for anyone.
The nearest creature twitched again, its fingertips curling up a fraction. It wasn’t dead, but it was so close that Clare was amazed it was still moving.
Dorran placed a hand on Clare’s back and whispered, “Turn around.”
“What?”
“I need to take care of this. Turn around.”
She faced the wall above the table. The metal had been damaged there, too, by tiny scratches that had probably come from hollow fingernails.
Two loud whacking noises echoed through the room. Clare flinched. The hollow stopped croaking. Clare took slow breaths.
That’s it. You saw the bunker. You can get out now. Run for the car. Don’t look back.
Her eyes were blurred with unshed tears, distorting the marks on the wall above the desk. Her breath caught. The scratches appeared in little bunches. They were too controlled to be from hollows.
“Dorran. The torch.”
He directed the light towards where she pointed, and Clare squinted against the glare cast off the metal. The lines weren’t scratches from fingernails. They had been cut with the sharp edge of a screw. The implement lay on the ground just below the table, its tip worn down from the usage. Beth had written an address into the wall.
Chapter Thirty-Three
“Helexis Tower, Floor 12, Inner City.” Clare ran her fingers over the words as she read them. The lines were all jagged from the force of being cut with a screw, but they were in Beth’s hand—she was certain. Beth had a particular way of forming Es that was unmistakable.
“Is the location significant to you?” Dorran’s voice was a whisper. He kept glancing up the open stairwell beside them. They had already spent longer than they should have.
“I know the city. I’ve been there a few times. But I’ve never heard of the tower. Why would Beth write it, though?”
“And on the wall, not on the paper.” Dorran indicated to the scraps of white littering the ground. Pages torn out of books. Scraps from the notepad that was now flung against the opposite wall. If she’d needed something to write on, there was an abundance of material.
The answer came to her quickly. “Because she wanted me to see it. She knew I would come for her, but that I wouldn’t have enough time to sort through the papers on the ground. So she left it on the wall, where I couldn’t miss it.”
Except you nearly did miss it, the little voice in her head whispered. If Dorran hadn’t made you turn around, you wouldn’t have seen it at all.
But it was the only theory that made sense. A message scrawled on metal. Something that couldn’t be erased, scrunched up, or burnt. Placed beside the exit. It had to be for her.
She pressed her hand to the metal. Her breathing was ragged, and her heartbeat sounded too loud. The fact that she didn’t understand the message didn’t matter. Beth had tried to communicate with her.
“Clare. Mask.” Dorran stayed facing the stairwell. He’d gone very still, and his whisper held a note of warning.
She grabbed the fencing mask from the floor and pulled it over her head, then she stepped up to his side. At the top of the stairs, framed by a square of harsh light, stood a disfigured silhouette. Its elongated head tilted to the side as it stared down at them.
Damn it. I promised him we wouldn’t stay too long. Clare, without moving her eyes from the figure, felt the cloth around her neck and the gloves tied to her sleeves. They were secure. It can’t recognise us. It won’t attack. We can slip past it if we’re careful—
More silhouettes appeared behind it. With the light diffused behind the creatures, she couldn’t see their expressions. But she could hear the hunger and anger as jaws stretched open to chatter at them.
The blood, she realised. They smell the blood down here. They’re going to attack.
The hollow lunged towards them, uneven footsteps ringing on the metal stairs. The internal door was propped open beside her. Clare moved quickly, grabbing the door’s edge and forcing it closed. She staggered as the cuts in her shoulder burned. The metal, designed to be airtight, was heavy and resisted being slammed. Clare grunted as the creature hit the other side
